


Last Dance, Last Chance

by agoodtuckering



Series: Doctor Who Oneshots and Stories [20]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Deviates From Canon, Episode: s08e08 Mummy on the Orient Express, F/M, Heartache, Love, Romance, Sexual Tension, The Doctor decides to break all the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 04:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: One last hurrah, in every sense of the words.





	Last Dance, Last Chance

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Donna Summer’s Last Dance. Highly recommend listening while reading. This was written for a friend of mine, @ohmogo, on twitter and her beautiful art. The words just flowed. https://twitter.com/ohmogo/status/1034511805471711233

“If this really is our _last hurrah,_ maybe we should break a few rules of ours, yeah?”

Her voice and her softly-spoken, almost tentative words caught him fully off-guard. It took him a moment to cast a glance her way. His look, however, showed how stricken he was. To the very core, it almost seemed like.

“Dance with me,” she prodded gently. “Everyone is doing it right now. Just have a dance with me. Could it really hurt?”  
  
The Doctor’s brows furrowed in surprised. Of all the things he’d been expecting her to say, _that_ certainly wasn’t it. She wanted to _dance._ She wanted him to hold her, in his arms, and spin around the floor with her. He couldn’t grasp it, nevermind think up some sort of witty response.

She reached out to gently place his drink aside, on the table they had been leaning right up against, and her hand found his.

He found himself enthralled. _Utterly entranced._ He went along with her, without qualm or complaint, and let her cozy up to him without minding the closeness. He didn’t do this. He had to remind himself of that fact. He didn’t like touching and holding and all the close proximity that came along with it. In fact, he completely loathed having _anyone_ in his personal space. _And yet…_ With Clara, he wasn’t minding it so much right now.

“The mighty Time Lord doth protest too much, methinks,” she said softly as she began to twirl him around. He didn’t understand for a moment before it finally dawned on him. She meant being close. He hated it, or so he claimed. Right now, though, he didn’t seem to particularly mind, and she _had_ noticed. Shame on him for being so transparent.

His hand found her own, the other settling at the middle of her back. “I don’t like this,” he said, despite drawing her nearer to him, beginning to slow dance as the song changed. The female singer was crooning out a slow, jazzy version of Donna Summer’s _Last Dance._ Clara _almost_ chuckled at how appropriate _that_ felt.

“Doctor…”

She moved in closer, tiptoeing along a line they had placed between them a long while back. She was practically tap-dancing on it right now. He was too. And then there was _Danny._ Sweet, loving Danny. Danny who treated her right, and never ever made her feel inferior, unwanted, or unappreciated. She had to remind herself that she belonged to him.

“You don’t… You don’t seem like you feel that way very much right now,” she said to him, softly, meant only for his ears. _And really, were they closer?_ It certainly felt like it. She could make out each of the specks of blue and hazel in his deep green eyes, eyes that were ageless and beautiful. She hadn’t been that close to him before, had she?

He cleared his throat softly and began to chuckle, suddenly amused with her words. “Neither do you,” he murmured softly in response. He felt her pulse quicken at her wrist, couldn’t _help_ but notice the way her pupils dilated. Her lips parted, almost in awe.

 _It was like gravity._ They were drawn to one another, like they were caught in one another’s orbit. The collision, as inevitable as it was, would be spectacular and tragic, but beautiful nonetheless.

It was there, written in his eyes. _I’ll miss you. I’ll miss all of our yesterdays and all of our tomorrows, all the tomorrows we_ could _have had. It’ll ache for a long time, and I’ll miss you throughout all of it._

“Do you think this is a mistake?” he asked softly, as they swayed around. “Saying goodbye, I mean.” He looked somewhat emotional, a bit beside himself with the ache in his hearts. As if it was unbearable.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she told him, a bit breathless now. She needed to stick to her convictions. She knew that. She _needed_ to. This wouldn’t work out, in the end. Then she added, softer now, “Let’s just enjoy this last hurrah of ours, shall we? While we can?”

He spun her around the dancefloor a few times and drew her back to him, unashamedly, and reveled in her gentle, joyous laughs and each of the smiles that were aimed his way. Eventually, though, she found herself almost clinging to him. Her feet ached, and if she were honest with her herself, she was giving him an invitation. To hold her, properly now.

He let himself relax into it. He didn’t care about anyone else on this train, especially in this carriage, dancing alongside of them. He didn’t pay anyone any mind. Only her.

Ever so gently, the fingers of her left hand wound around his shoulder and found their way to the back of his neck, to hold the collar of his jacket. She pressed herself closer, leaning up to him and saying, “The woman in the shop… The one who brought us together… Do you ever wish she hadn’t?”

His fingers released hers so that he could brush his index digit and thumb along her forearm, their dancing ceasing. Her skin was warm, pale, and she felt so alive beneath his touch. He would _miss_ this, the one and only time she had ever let him get so close, and vice versa.

“I have never regretted meeting you,” he whispered, almost inaudibly to her, and he began to sway again with her. His voice all but left him. She still heard him, though. Of course she did. After, he continued, “You’re my impossible girl, Clara Oswald. How could I ever, ever regret a single thing with you?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Tears threatened to make a fool of her, springing into the very corners of her eyes. Hot and angry and foolish is what they felt like.

Without warning, he leant down to her. And for a moment, if only a single moment, she truly thought he might properly kiss her. He breezed just past her mouth, past her jaw, and placed his lips upon her warm skin, in the space between her neck and shoulder.

Clara gasped, fingers tightening around the collar of his jacket, and the temperature of the room seemed to skyrocket. It was surreal. Was the room spinning? It certainly felt like it. Time seemed to stop for a tick or two. His tender lips lingered, and when he spoke, it was against her skin.

“I really am sorry that I ever… made you feel as if you were unimportant, or abandoned. It was never my intention. You must believe that.”

She was trembling in his arms, so full of desire that she could burst. Her head was swimming and his words felt foggy, far-off somehow. She felt distant from her own body. Was this what it felt like, to be close to something you’ve wanted for so very long, but terrified? Electrified? There was that line again. They were crossing it.

_But Danny._

_Oh, Danny._

_He would never be able to forgive her. And really, could she forgive herself?_

“It’s just one night,” he whispered softly into her ear, his eyes briefly falling shut. He cradled her so close, so gently. She wanted to weep. Again, her fingers squeezed his collar. This time, though, they trailed up higher into his curls. She felt brave. She felt courageous.

 _He could hear her thoughts._ The realization was startling. She felt naked right here before him. There wasn’t any shame on his features, though, as she drew back to gaze up at him. Not at all.

He was offering her this. One last night together. One last chance.

“If you’re suggesting… this… out of pity,” she began to say, floundering all the while with her words. His lips covered hers before she could attempt an end to the sentence. She’d never make it to the finish, anyway. She couldn’t bear it.

He was _kissing_ her. Kissing. Holding. Touching. Hands, lips, teeth. Right there on the dancefloor. She was _stunned,_ only in the best of ways. He smelled like apples, cinnamon, and stardust. He smelled of _temptation._

_And she was giving in._

“Take me back to your room,” she asked of him, eyes bearing so much emotion that he nearly felt faint. _That look,_ for tonight it was all his. Just his. No one else’s. He felt a surge of possessiveness. Of desire, need, and relief.

He pulled away and took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and quickly swept her off the tiny dancefloor to make their way back to the sleeping carriage were their rooms were. Just for a little while, she was all his. _They needed this._ No one else would ever have to know.


End file.
